


he's not what i was expecting

by neville



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern: No Powers, First Kiss, First Relationship, Fluff, High School, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-27
Updated: 2018-04-27
Packaged: 2019-04-28 17:37:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14454372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neville/pseuds/neville
Summary: The thing that surprises Neville most about his first kiss is that Marcusasks.





	he's not what i was expecting

The thing that surprises Neville most about his first kiss is that Marcus  _ asks _ . 

He hadn’t been expecting the kiss at all, but if he’d thought about it, he’d have thought that Marcus would just push him up against a wall and kiss him without second thought; which is, of course, mostly what he does, save for the part when he asks almost under his breath “can I kiss you?” and Neville stares back and says “yes” before he’s quite aware of what he’s said. 

And then there’s no wall - they’re sitting on Neville’s bed, which is in the middle of his room and thus nowhere near any of his walls, most of which are unapproachable anyway due to his collection of rather large potted plants, so Marcus’s remedy to this is to effortlessly knock Neville over so that he can be pushed back into his bed, which has a soft mattress that he sinks into just as easily as Marcus sinks into him. 

Of all the people to be his first kiss, Marcus had never struck Neville as a contender. In fact, had Marcus not asked Neville to tutor him in Biology after being seated next to him, Neville’s fairly sure that neither of them would’ve been on the other’s radar; and without being on the other’s radar, they wouldn’t have spent the better part of six months on Neville’s intensive course to passing GCSE Biology, and therefore never would’ve gotten to know each other at all. Neville would never have known that Marcus loves old soul music and dances like he’s already an embarrassing dad to them, and Marcus never would have known that Neville likes to bake and can make the meanest chocolate cookies Marcus has ever had, soft on the inside and crunchy on the outside.

Marcus grins and brushes the hair out of Neville’s eyes.

-

Augusta Longbottom doesn’t cook a meal for Marcus on the pretense of inviting him over and getting to scrutinise him; instead, she gets to know him through the measure of his regular interactions with her grandson. She makes no judgments on his leather jackets or his ripped jeans or the fact that he’s built like a particularly clumsy tank, but watches the way he grins when Neville is talking, or the way his arm slides around Neville’s waist and the way Neville comforts into it. 

She begins to think that she rather likes Marcus when she spies the two of them through the broken keyhole in the kitchen door in the living room dancing to Alice’s old Sparks Greatest Hits record, cheeks flushed and Marcus with just as much reckless abandon as Neville, who Augusta hasn’t seen dance in her entire life, much less dance enough for sweat to stick his hair to his forehead.

And Marcus, oh Marcus, is dancing right back like he doesn’t know that it could ever be an art form; and that’s when Augusta decides that he’s just perfect for Neville.

-

Marcus is sitting on Frank’s old patchwork chair and wearing a grey sweater when he tells Neville that he loves him to a Cat Power record, and Neville is so taken aback by the fact that it’s happened that it takes him a moment; because, even though he’s above his own misconceptions about Marcus, they’re still lingering there, and he’s always thought that Marcus would never be the type of person to say it first or even focus on his own emotions at that level. He’d always expected that he would be the one to say it.

It’s easy when he says it, grinning because he can’t really believe, still, that there’s someone out there that could care about him and love him, and that that person happens to have scared Neville shitless for most of his life prior (he happened to hang around in circles of people that looked intimidatingly large and mean). “I love you, too,” he says, and swallows, smiling nervously. “A-a lot.” 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Taking a step he had no idea he had the bravery for, he reaches for the hem of his T-shirt when Marcus physically interjects, crossing the room and laying his hands over Neville’s. 

“I wanna do that,” he says, and Neville concedes, Marcus’s hands warm where they graze the skin of his stomach.

-

Marcus is a year older than Neville, so by the time Neville’s frantically trying to put together his UCAS application and trying to balance out his personal statement, Marcus is already out of school and between shifts at the local Costa and the Amazon warehouse; he’s particularly busy, playing rugby when he’s not working, but he manages to join Neville in Costa after a shift, sporting a particularly large black coffee as Neville is trying to redraft his application for the fifth time.

“Where are you applying?” he asks, picking off a part of Neville’s muffin to eat. 

“I don’t know,” Neville mumbles, scratching the back of his neck. “I’ve gotten better than most of the entry requirements, so that’s okay, but… I’d like to go to university maybe somewhere else - and it’s not because of you, you know I want to stay with you, but…” 

“Don’t sweat it,” Marcus replies, taking a sip of his coffee. “It’s shit round here. If you wanna be a student, go be a proper student somewhere proper student-y.” He runs a hand through Neville’s hair, ruffling it. “Let me have a read of that.” 

“It’s bad,” Neville protests, but Marcus laughs, taking the printed-out sheet Neville has been writing over in a desperate attempt to make his personal statement as eloquent and presentable as possible, and he shies into silence as Marcus reads it slowly, a grin slowly spreading across his face. 

He chuckles. “This is real cute. Wind band, huh? What’d you play?”

“Bassoon,” Neville mumbles, and Marcus quirks his eyebrows.

“I don’t even know what that fucking  _ is _ ,” he snorts, reading again through Neville’s exam results with glee: he thinks he’s stupid, but he’s brimming with As and A*s - and for Marcus, whose best result was his B in GCSE Biology (thanks mostly to Neville), it’s  _ fantastic _ . Neville deserves this, and he knows that; and he’s seen all his friends fall out with their boyfriends and girlfriends over university, but fuck, who is he to stop Neville from achieving? That’s what he  _ wants _ Neville to do.

Hell, he wants to keep Neville; he doesn’t want Neville to be gone, halfway across the country where the rail fares are too high for Marcus to afford any visit, but fuck. He wants Neville to be better than he is, to get out there and do something.

“You’ll get in,” he says, pushing the personal statement back at Neville, who scoffs.

“I don’t even know where I’m applying to.”

“Doesn’t matter. You’ll get in.” 

“That’s not a guarantee.”

“Take it from me, baby, that’s a fucking  _ guarantee _ .” 

Neville smiles shyly, still unused to actually being referred to with pet names, and finishes his hot chocolate. “I hope so,” he says; and without pause for anything, Marcus leans in and kisses him, running his thumb across Neville’s flushed cheek. Neville reaches up and takes Marcus’s hand, clasping it. “I think I want to go to University College London.” 

-

To Marcus’s complete lack of surprise, Neville gets in. 

He doesn’t seem to believe it’s happened even when he gets the email, or the letter, or his matriculation card, or when he gets his course details, or even when he sorts out his uni accommodation and books his train ticket; even the day before, he seems in a state of mild shock, as if the idea of leaving is still a foreign one. 

Marcus comes over for Neville’s leaving bash, a party full of family he’s seen so few times that he doesn’t even recognise half of them, and almost all of whom flash dirty looks at Marcus for his squint teeth and rough accent, and all of whom he just glares back at; and he stays even after it’s over and the buffet has been drained and all that’s left are raisin cookies and cold sausage rolls and the only people left are Neville’s weird uncles. 

“London, huh,” he says, sprawled out on the sofa watching reruns of  _ Bob’s Burgers _ that he and Neville must have seen so many times that they could quote the whole episode. “You better go to all the cool places while you’re there. Don’t fucking cop out.”

“I won’t,” Neville promises; he’s sitting on the floor, cross-legged, eating heated-up Domino’s pizza from the day before, his head leaning back against Marcus’s stomach. He glances at the chair in the corner of the room, the patchwork, and remembers the feeling of Marcus kissing down his neck and making a trail to the waistband of Neville’s jeans, and he instinctively blushes. “I’m going to miss you.” 

“I’ll text,” Marcus offers. “Or call, or fucking FaceTime but you know I look like a troll on camera.” 

“It’s not the same,” Neville protests. 

“You can send me sexy Snapchats.”

“I absolutely will not!” Neville turns around and bats at Marcus for the suggestion; and Marcus just laughs, letting Neville bat until he gives up with a kiss that’s all too much food but that Marcus couldn’t even force himself to mind, hooking a finger in the neck of Neville’s T-shirt. 

“You wanna go upstairs?” he asks, and Neville nods; and they ignore Neville’s staring family members as they traipse upstairs hand-in-hand and as Marcus locks the bedroom door. “Not gonna lie, mate, your family look like the kind that would all stand outside and listen.”

“They don’t think I’ll ever amount to much,” Neville says bashfully. “So I think they’re surprised that I’ve got university, and you.” 

“Pricks,” Marcus sniffs. “I think you amount to - I don’t know, a fucking lot. And if they think you’re shit, then bloody hell, tell me what the fuck  _ they’ve  _ ever done that’s so damn special.” 

Neville is already sans his T-shirt when Marcus turns to face him again, and he grins. “God, I’m gonna miss you too. I bloody love you.” 

“Yeah,” Neville laughs. “Me too.”

**Author's Note:**

> thank you so much for reading!! if you liked it i'd rly appreciate if you could leave a comment or even come yell with me about these two on my tumblr @quentinkowalski :)


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